My 13-year-old self came to yoga to be transported to another world, where the worries of this one faded away. Yeah, right.
Yoga, for me, was always unattainable but something I longed to be a part of. Images of kindhearted people with a serene calm filled my head and I wanted to be one. I was sick with digestive pain all of my life, and I consistently felt defeated every time I hit the mat. I couldn't bend in the most beginner poses and my mind wouldn't quiet. When practicing you should be in the state of mind where everyone disappears and it's just you, your breath, your limbs; but that was a grasp too far out of reach for me. I was impatient, I was jittery, I was stiff. I couldn't breathe with my poses, my nose was always stuffy, and my lungs were asthmatic. Eventually the mat I bought with my allowance ended up collecting dust in the back of my closet, along with all the promise it held for me.
Now weights were something I could do. Fast, hard movements, quick and strained breaths, these were fitting for my competitive spirit and borderline hyperactivity. Yoga still remained the epitome of graceful and quiet strength, but I simply wrote it off as “not for me”. After all, I was clumsy, awkward, and had bunion feet!
My yoga mat remained in the corner for the next few years, till I felt the itch to try it again. I had recently requested a test for Celiac disease from my doctor, but was declined, as I "would be a lot sicker if I did have it" (which I later found out isn’t actually true). Well it seems the universe heard that statement loud and clear because within two years I wasn't digesting my food, I was living off of Tums, and there were times I would simply not eat just to avoid the pain. I tried self-practice once again, with a dream in my head of healing myself if I could just heal my mind. I wanted so badly to be someone that my body and my "food burdens" just wouldn't let me achieve. Intestinal pains grab you back to earth with a resounding thud, no matter how much you try to transcend.